


Interruptions

by The_Necessity_of_Darkness



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkwardness, Characteristic use of tea, First Kiss, Flustered John, Frustrated Sherlock, Hydrocloric Acid, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Realization, chemical burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Necessity_of_Darkness/pseuds/The_Necessity_of_Darkness
Summary: 5 times Sherlock and John almost kiss and 1 time there's nothing to stop them.





	1. The Pathologist

**#1: Molly Hooper**

Sherlock nods faintly as she leaves the room, empty mugs clinking in her hands. John offered to help her carry them, but she didn't want to make a bigger deal about it than it already was; it's obvious Sherlock knew what she was doing. It's also obvious the type of affection she holds for him isn't returned in the slightest.

The fact stings a bit, but she knows there was only a slim chance of her attraction being mutual; how could a couple mugs of coffee change Sherlock's whole perspective of her? She hadn't even been considering John, either, which is probably a no-no if she ever wants a relationship with the detective.

Pushing open the office door, she sets the mugs in the sink, slinking over to the office desk in the back of the room. She supposes she really needs to clean a bit if she's to find anything; Sherlock had requested the autopsy of the man she promised him he could take a look at.

Sighing slightly as she grabs the file and folds it beneath her arm, she turns for the doorway. Sauntering down the hallway, she stops suddenly, hearing the doctor and detective's voices increase suddenly in volume, echoing throughout the corridor.

"You have to be more careful with this stuff!" She hears the faucet hastily being turned on, something underneath the pour of water.

A hiss in response. "The tray fell over; it wasn't my fault!"

"What were you even doing with the stuff?" Another snarl of pain.

"It isn't merely "stuff", John; it's hydrocloric acid. I was trying to see whether human fingers or human toes corrode faster." She hears a heavy sigh, from John, she presumes.

"You and your bloody experiments are getting out of hand. You're bound to get hurt much worse one of these days..." Molly notices the concerned undertone through the thick layer of exasperation.

"Nonsense, John." A confident tone.

"No, not nonsense, you git. You just don't have any common sense." The fondness sneaks through his sentence, now, despite the scolding.

"What's the use of retaining common sense when I have you to retain it for me?"

Molly finally makes her way to the door, glancing through the glass at the odd tenderness of Sherlock's voice. Through the glare of lights, she sees the slight flush of the tips of John's ears as he dampens Sherlock's hand with a paper towel.

"Yeah, but..." A long pause, almost too long. "I won't always be there to tell you what makes sense and what doesn't."

"Why not?" Molly sees Sherlock smirk as he chances a glance at the doctor's smiling face.

A fond sigh before he responds,"Now you're just acting like a child."

The pathologist stands awkwardly as a beat of silence passes, the only noise being the water still pouring from the sink and the gulp of her throat. She notices the change of distance between both of them, the way Sherlock is leaning in slightly and how John isn't backing away. She clears her throat uncomfortably, although she knows the sound won't permeate the room.

Molly opens the door suddenly, drawing Sherlock and the doctor out of whatever stupor they were previously in. The detective quickly glances to her, small smile wiped off of his face as John visibly tenses beside him.

"Uh...I have the autopsy here...for you...," she mumbles, glancing to the burn along the purlicue of Sherlock's left hand.

"Ah, thank you, Molly," he replies, taking the situation in his stride as he pulls out of John's grip and starts for the table. The soldier turns off the faucet as Sherlock shakes the water off of his hands, quickly grabbing the manilla folder from her outstretched hand.

"Yeah...welcome..." She breathes a little shallowly as she turns on her heel for the door. Her hand raises in a meek attempt at a wave as she hurriedly rushes a goodbye and scurries out of the room.

So much for any chance at anything above a one-sided friendship. She saw the way Sherlock kept looking down at John's lips, the way John's head was tilted up to meet his.

If she can't have Sherlock, at least she knows he'll be happy with John.


	2. The Detective Inspector

**#2: Greg Lestrade**

"Ligature marks here, around the bulk of her throat. About the width of her purse's strap, hence the murder weapon has been right under your noses." Sherlock flicks his coat collar up with a dramatic flourish, looking to Lestrade's frowning face.

Sherlock always makes the lot of them sound like utter idiots; couldn't he make it a little less obvious how dumb he finds all of Greg's workers? The D.I. shakes his head slightly as he glances down to the woman and remembers why he deals with Holmes' insults in the first place; because he needs him. Because they're friends.

"Just because you may be a "proper genius" doesn't mean you get to insult the rest of us like our IQs are equivalent to that of chimpanzees."

The detective scoffs. "Like there's much of a difference between the two!"

"Sherlock!" John scolds, rising from his crouched position. The doctor looks sternly at his flatmate before turning to Greg apologetically.

"Nah, nah, it's quite alright, John. I've had to deal with this for more than five years. Anyway, I have to go talk to some people," Lestrade says, turning to open the door before glancing back at them. "If either of you need me, I'll be outside."

Sherlock just dismissively gestures for him to leave, then turns to John and starts prattling on about a list of possible motives. The last Lestrade sees is the detective pointing wildly at something before the door clicks shut behind him.

He continues down the front steps before Sally stops him with a call of,"Hey, Greg?!" Honestly, can his employees give him a break for upwards of two minutes before they have to ask him something? He winces; he supposes he's being a bit of a hypocrite, considering how often he goes running to consult Sherlock.

"Where's the Freak? Got a call from a...Mycroft Holmes?" Donovan covers the phone speaker as she says, quieter,"I didn't know Holmes had a brother. Probably a twat, as well."

Greg shakes his head slightly, sighing as he reaches for the device. "Here; I'll give it to him. I don't need you riling him up. He's already wound up enough as it is." He really needs to get Donovan and Anderson to take some sensitivity lessons, at least, because this whole 'Freak' thing is getting out of hand.

She snorts derisively. "I'll gladly give it to you. Don't want to see that Freak anyway," she replies, swiftly handing him the phone and practically hurtling herself down the steps, despite her heels. Greg stares after her for a moment before turning back to whence he came.

Twisting the door handle, phone cradled in his left arm, he calls into the room,"Oi, Sherlock? Got a call from your brother."

It's only then that he notices the pair are pressed flush together, John pinned against the wall. There are merely a few inches between their lips, and Lestrade suddenly wishes Sally had brought the phone in.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and Sherlock's head snaps to him. His and John's eyes both light with recognition as the detective practically leaps away and a scant flood of red dusts the doctor's cheeks.

"Ah...should I tell him to call you back?" Greg shifts slightly as he holds the phone in front of his face, gaze lingering on the curtains above the couch.

"Give me that!" Sherlock growls, and he looks none too happy as he snatches the phone from the D.I.'s hand and shoves it against his ear.

"What do you bloody want?!" John scratches the back of his head momentarily before rocking on the balls of his feet. Lestrade makes a motion to ask if this is the right time for him to leave; he gets an affirmative in response.

He bolts for the door, wrenching it open as he sees Anderson and Sally approaching. Gulping a little, he glances back into the room, seeing Sherlock and John still speaking into the phone at quite a close proximity.

"You might not want to go in there...," he murmurs, fidgeting, pulling slightly at his collar. Anderson gives him a look as Donovan raises an eyebrow, but he merely pushes past them.

He doesn't get paid enough for this.


	3. Not The Housekeeper

#3: Mrs. Hudson

Just because she cleans up a bit doesn't mean she's Sherlock's housekeeper, yet she finds herself making tea for both him and John for the third day in a row. She doesn't mind as much as she lets on, but it gets exhausting making three cups instead of her one.

She idly stirs two scoops of sugar into Sherlock's mug, taking care not to put any into John's. Scampering to the fridge and pulling out the carton of milk, she pours a bit into hers.

Registering the significant loss of weight, she recognizes that it's empty; another thing she'll have to do. Buy their milk for them. Or maybe not; she's sure she has an extra carton in her refrigerator. She can just give that one to the boys, for now.

Smiling fondly, she sets the mugs on two saucers and carries her own with her as she trots down the stairs; the pair should be home any minute.

Before she even makes it to her door, the detective and doctor barge in. Sherlock takes the steps two at a time as Mrs. Hudson tries in vain to shout after him.

She turns to John, who gives her an apologetic smile and shrug, as she says,"The tea Sherlock requested is on the counter for you boys. Just made it."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. I'll be sure to get him to thank you," he replies, grinning as he nods at her before ascending the stairs.

 She waves after him before stating fondly,"Last time this week, boys. I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."

 John yells back a curt yes as she opens her door and starts for the kitchen. Taking a small sip of her tea, she flicks through the refrigerator, scouring for the unopened carton of milk she swore she had.

 "Oh, dear. I'll have to go out for some," she mumbles, glancing to the clock hung over the doorway.

 12:37 AM.

 "Shouldn't be too much trouble." She retrieves her purse from its place on the sofa, unzipping her wallet to see a crisp twenty dollar bill, along with two quarters.

 "I'll be at the Tesco's, boys!" Mrs. Hudson shouts, pushing open her door before shutting it promptly. She receives no response, but isn't deterred as she merely shrugs and goes to open 221's front door.

* * *

 

 "I used up the rest of your milk for tea, so I went to get some for you," she explains, unearthing the carton from the pools of plastic bag. Glancing around at the lack of response, she notices both Sherlock and John's mugs forgotten on the little table beside the doctor's characteristic chair.

 She frowns thinly as she ambles into the kitchen. After setting the milk on the fridge shelf, she makes her way towards Sherlock's bedroom.

 "Sherlock?" she calls, knocking softly before twisting the handle. Gaze locked on the disorganized floor, she flicks her eyes up just for them to widen at the sight.

 The detective and soldier are sitting on the end of his bed, both of their body's impossibly close, shoulders brushing with every breath. They look almost as if they're relishing in the feel of the closeness, inhaling the other's air.

 Mrs. Hudson smiles knowingly. "Dears, I just thought you'd like to know that the milk is in your refrigerator." The boffin's head snaps up hastily, John still looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Only after Sherlock makes an uncomfortable noise in his throat does the doctor turn his gaze to the landlady.

 John seems like he's finally embarrassed as he says thickly,"Uh...thanks, Mrs. H. I was just going out to get some, but I needed to have a talk with Sherlock about...what is and isn't acceptable behavior." His stare shifts to Sherlock's.

 "You're welcome. I'll be downstairs if you ever need me." She continues to smile, closing the door gently before turning on her heel and starting for the exit.

 She would pay to see what was about to happen in that room.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you all enjoyed this POV. I'll be back with the next soon.


End file.
